


Hers

by imaginarycircus



Category: Lizzie Bennet Diaries
Genre: F/M, Metafiction, Mild Angst, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-19
Updated: 2013-03-19
Packaged: 2017-12-05 18:59:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/726807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginarycircus/pseuds/imaginarycircus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><a href="http://cirqueimaginaire.tumblr.com/post/45685319327/aeterna-mente">As requested</a>: Lizzie reads "Dizzie" fic and that's why she doesn't want anyone to see her browser history in ep. 97.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hers

Lizzie was about 79% certain that if she received another comment or email asking if she’d heard back from Darcy yet, that she’d blow out a major vein. She’d spent the last three hours aimlessly Googling Darcy, stalking his twitter, stalking everyone he even tangentially knew. Reading news accounts of Pemberley, or anything remotely connected to Pemberley. Her eyes felt like cracked marbles. She’d watched the Domino videos so many times she knew them by heart.

A message popped up from Lydia. Lizzie had thought Lydia was asleep since it was nearing two and she had class at nine. Before Lizzie could reprimand her little sister, Lydia’s icon winked offline. Lizzie didn’t have the energy to march across the hall and tell Lydia to go to sleep. ‘And Lydia is a grown-up,’ she reminded herself.

She snorted at the link Lydia had forwarded. Lizzie recognized the URL. It was a popular fanfiction site. She’d been sent a zillion links to stories there. She’d tried to read one once, but in it she and Darcy had been getting married and she’d been a little too Polly-Anna-ish, or maybe a little too much like Jane. Real-Lizzie was not that sweet. It had freaked her out when she realized that the author was about to describe their wedding night in detail. She’d quickly hit the back button and never read another story sent to her again.

What the hell? She clicked the link. Maybe Lydia had sent it to her because it was funny. It had to be better than pathetically hitting refresh on Darcy’s seldom updated twitter account.

She almost clicked the back button when she saw that the story was rated, ‘Mature.’ The summary stopped her: “Within hours of Lizzie’s phone message, Darcy appears on her doorstep ready to chat.”

Because that was something she had imagined, had even hoped for a little bit. She’d never admit that, even if you held a red hot poker near her eyes.

She skimmed the first two paragraphs and there wasn’t anything too embarrassing. Darcy was wearing his glasses. Lizzie could get on board with that. She invited him in, but he asked her to come out. He wanted to take her to dinner. Like she’d be able to eat if Darcy showed up her doorstep.

He held her hand on the way to the car and into the restaurant, which was sort of sweet. Lizzie wasn’t sure how they managed to eat dinner without addressing the elephant, actually the whole herd of them, in the room. In real life she probably would have either grabbed and kissed him or bluntly asked him why he’d come in person before he could open his mouth. Story Lizzie was way more demure than actual Lizzie.

Until she reached the paragraph that started, “Lizzie reached for him and they met in a smoldering kiss across the parking brake.” Suddenly story-Lizzie wasn’t all that demure. The kissing went on for several paragraphs and Lizzie drank in every word, could imagine it perfectly. She pressed her thighs together firmly to keep them from twitching, but it just made her ache intensify.

Story-Darcy cupped story-Lizzie’s face in his hands and told her he still loved her and asked if her feelings had changed. Reeal-Lizzie would have preferred that they had had that conversation before making out, but whatever.

Story-Lizzie admitted that her feelings had changed and that she was in love with Darcy. It was so easy for Story-Lizzie to say those words. The character found them freeing. Real-Lizzie found them terrifying. Not because she didn’t feel that way, but because she felt it too much. Sometimes just the thought, or a memory of Darcy made her shiver, unable to sit still. Since she’d returned from San Francisco she’d been carrying around the phantom pressure of his hand skimming her back. It would not go away. She couldn’t help but imagine all the other places his hands could wander. She tried not to think about him that way, but it was hopeless. Once she’d started having those thoughts, she couldn’t stop.

Story-Lizzie was being dragged across Darcy’s lap. Could he do that in real life? Darcy looked pretty strapping, but she wasn’t sure he’d be able to move her that easily in a confined space. Maybe he could. It’s not like she’d ever find out.

Story-Darcy seemed highly experienced in ways Lizzie would be surprised if Real-Darcy was. She couldn’t imagine he had had “a parade of casual lovers.” She’d found that gem while Googling. The fans had really active imaginations. The story ended with them quickly losing enough clothes for “Darcy to slide smoothly deep into her core.” Both cried out in bliss and collapsed into each other. She wouldn’t mind that at all, but she saw it playing out differently.

She could imagine straddling him in a car, or on a sofa. She could imagine kissing him, him kissing her. His hands tangled in her hair. Her thumbs brushing the dark stubbled edge of his jaw. But she thought he’d be tentative, at least at first. You always had to break through walls of reserve to get to him, to get to his feelings and passions.

Once his defenses were breached, she knew he’d pick up speed, let her spur him on with her lips, her hands, her knees squeezing against his hips. His hands would roam everywhere, under her shirt, up her skirt. She’d spent a fair amount of time looking at his hands when she didn’t feel comfortable staring at his face. His face was difficult to conjure up in this scenario, but his hands came readily. She knew the blunt shape of his nails, the small scar in the web of his left thumb, the ink that sometimes stained his fingertips because he insisted on writing with his grandfather’s fountain pen.

Her Darcy would stop and ask her if she wanted to return home. She’d look disappointed and he would clear his throat and ask her if she wanted to come back to Netherfield with him. To which she would say, “Yes.” He’d have a goofy smile on his face the entire drive there and wouldn’t let go of her hand even when he needed to switch gears. They’d stumble inside trying to make it up the stairs while kissing and fumbling with clothes. They’d almost end up having sex on the stairs, but having come so close, her Darcy would pick her up and take her to bed.

Her Darcy. Clearly that was a fantasy, because if he wanted to be hers, he’d have called back by now. She put her laptop to sleep, stretched and ignored the heaviness in her limbs, the unfulfilled longing. She could do something about it, but it was never quite enough and the ache would rush back in almost immediately. She left her phone on her desk and crawled into bed, but sleep wouldn’t come. She padded across the room and took the phone back to bed with her. Just in case.


End file.
